Supernatural Untitled Fanfic
by Lilith Frost
Summary: - This story takes place after season 6 -   Sam and Dean team up with Castiel and the strangest demon they've ever met - along with 3 Hellhounds and new weapons - to protect the world, once again, from the leaderless, furious, and rampaging hoards of Hell


Excerpt...

...Swinging the bat with as much force as he could manage with a dislocated shoulder, Sam busted the demon whore in the mouth.

"_Sonofabitch_! You bled me!" She touched her fingers to her swelling, bleeding lips and a devilish grin crossed her face, "Kiss me, Sam..." she taunted, "what's it been; 2 years? You know you miss it... The _power_... The warm sting of it sliding down your throat..."

She smirked, "Or does your precious _control_ mean that much to you?"

Sam twitched. The smell of Ember alone was overwhelming. The sight of her blood snaking down her neck threatened to push him over the edge. Before he could get his head straight, she lunged at him. She was too quick for Sam to dodge, slicing into his bicep with a switch-blade. She giggled.

"Awe, you really should have that looked at," she said, "might need stitches."

Sam caught her by the arms and slammed her against the wall.

"Oooh, I like it rough!" She crooned.

"Shut. Up." Sam hissed into her ear. His face buried in her hair, he fought not to give in to his desire. _Where's Dean when you need him?_ He thought. "Since when does a demon need a switch-blade?" He asked, squeezing Ember's arms tighter, as if it might help him focus on something other than the intense drive to suck the blood from her lips.

"Who said I need it? I'm a demon, remember?" She retorted, "And _ow... _That _hurts_. Do you _mind_?"

Frustration driving him damn near insane, Sam slammed her into the wall again, paint and plaster raining down around their feet as it cracked and crumbled. His shoulder spasmed from the exertion. Ember's eyes went wide and she was truly frightened. She hadn't meant for thing's to go this far. Honestly, she'd only wanted to talk to him... and with him this close to her, her brain couldn't seem to pick an emotion; fear or arousal. This was _far_ from what she'd had in mind.

_Fear's a good sign,_ Sam thought. He felt the smile creep over his face and knew it was a dark one. The kind of expression that would have made Dean pull the trigger not so long ago when they both thought Sam would go dark side - and maybe it could still happen. His heart thudded in his chest with the powerful _need_ to taste her, by the memory of the extacy he knew the blood pumping through her veins could bring.

Sam brushed his shaking hands over her arms and shoulders and into her hair. Ember's eyes fluttered closed and her pulse sped, making the call of her blood that much more enticing. _What have I done? _she thought, _Stupid, Ember. So stupid!_ "You don't have to do this, Sam," she said, "You can just-

Sam growled. He made fists in Ember's hair, pulling tight, cutting her off. She gasped, her head jerking back. Sam turned her face to his, controlling her movements with his own. He had her head and her lower body pinned, but her arms were free. She still had her knife in her hand. Ember could have stabbed him at any time. Hell, she could've thrown him across the room with just a flick of her wrist. If she wanted to. She didn't want to. She wanted Sam right where he was, pressed against her. For the first time in a long time, she regretted that she was a demon.

Sam pressed his lips to hers, forcing her mouth open. The moment her blood touched his tongue his body reacted, tightening the front of his jeans and his grip on Ember's hair. The entirety of Sam's body tingled as though he'd sucked a liquid live-wire into his nervous system. For a moment, he wondered what the big deal was. How could something that felt so... _amazing_ be wrong? Lucifer had been locked in his cage for the better part of 2 years and Hell had no big plans for him. There was nothing to keep him from this or to prove to him it was wrong.

As soon as he thought it, he knew he was wrong. Because there was Dean. What would Dean think? And what about Bobby? Sam broke from the kiss and fell to the ground, his knees thudding on the hardwood floor. His head rested on Ember's legs, he stared at the ground. His eyes were hot with unshed tears, his throat tight. After all this time he spent recovered - at least, recovered enough to be mostly unaffected by demon blood, how could he just _give in?_ What was he thinking? Dean would never forgive this... Or even trust him again. _How could I let this happen?_

Ember slid down the wall to kneel next to him and laid her head on his, "I'm sorry, Sam," she whispered, regret squeezing her voice tight. She felt like she'd broken him. Like she broke everything. Even when she was human she'd had a problem with not thinking things through all the way. _Think before you speak, Ember-Lynn_, her grandmother had always told her. She really wished she could forget that detail of her pre-Hell existence. She felt hopeless. Even after her life went to Hell - literally, she couldn't get it right.

"I messed it up," she whispered, more to herself than Sam. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Huh?" Sam looked up at her. He couldn't understand what she was crying about. _Well this is... unexpected,_ he thought, confused. Actually, it was probably the _last_ thing he expected. He didn't know what to do. He wasn't accustomed to seeing demons cry. They'd get mad, they'd get scared, they'd even beg and plead... but _cry?_ He'd seen it a time or two, faked and used as a distraction, but then, shaking, child-like, crocodile tears were hard to fake - even by a demon's standards.

"What..." Sam was so baffled, he didn't even know what to say. _What's the matter? _Really? To the demon that cut him and dislocated his shoulder for the fun of it? The same demon that tempted him back into an addiction that could get him killed - or worse, lose him his brother; the only family Sam had left? Right. He stood up.

"The only reason I tracked you down was to talk to you; to help," Ember sniffled, wiping annoying tears off her face, "I messed up. I _always _mess up!" She smashed her fist into the floor, leaving a dent in the run-down paneling, "I'm sorry," she said softly, "I have... I have an attitude problem." She wrapped her arms around her knees.

Sam smirked, "No kidding?"

Ember glared up at him, "You know, _your_ attitude isn't helping anything right now," she said, rising from the floor.

"Says the demon that shows up out of nowhere and starts a fight." Sam raised an eyebrow, "How could you help me, anyway?"

"I-I don't - I don't know," she stammered, "I thought... maybe... we could help each other." Ember felt sheepish. _Damn him! I'm a demon, _she thought, _he shouldn't have this much power over me! Not fair. Not fair at all. _Sam had his arms crossed, a smug look on his face that she couldn't help but think was adorable. Adorable in an I'm-a-stubborn-little-boy-and-I'm-not-gonna-let-up kind of way, but adorable all the same. She sighed.

Sam grinned, "Oh, I get it," he said, "you hunt me down when I'm in the middle of a job, start a _fight_ with me... because you want my _help_?" Sam chuckled, "Kinda goin' about it wrong, aren't you?" What did she expect him to say? _Oh yeah, sure! I'd love to help you!_

"I can be useful," she said, hopeful, "really. I can help you too... Please?" _Wow, Ember, could you try any harder? _She thought to herself, disgusted. Obviously if real honest-to-God _tears_ (where ever those came from) didn't move this guy, why bother with such niceties like saying please? _Oh, that's good. Make yourself look desperate. Genius._

Sam rolled his eyes, "Do you even know what happened to the last demon that told me she could be helpful?"

"Meg?"

"Okay, yeah," he replied, "we'll go with Meg."

"Oh, you meant Ruby?" she asked.

Sam was getting annoyed. He was supposed to have called Dean already. He hadn't even been able to look for signs of the spirit they were hunting. And this strange, emotional demon was getting in his way. Of course, thanks to her blood, he could just send her ass packing, back to Hell where she came from, but... "Look, it doesn't matter," he stated, "they shared the same fate, and as far as I'm concerned, they both got what they deserved."

"I don't have an ulterior motive, Sam," Ember said, crossing her arms indignantly.

Exasperated, Sam asked, "Oh, and I'm supposed to what; just _believe_ you?" He sighed, the throbbing in his arm becoming un-ignorable, "Ruby convinced me _she_ was helping me up till the moment I killed her."

"I thought Dean killed Rub-

"Whatever!" Ruby wasn't someone Sam cared to talk about. "Why don't you just tell me what you want?"

Ember couldn't think of what to say. _I want you, Sam..._ Yeah, cause that would go over well. She felt bad enough already; not like herself at all. Even her stomach hurt for some reason. Sam laughing in her face wasn't going to make things any better.

"Look, I just want to help, okay?" She asked, hoping he'd just accept that, rather than continuing to analyze her motives. "Believe it or not, I'm telling you the truth. I'll even start by fixing your shoulder," she offered, holding her hand out for his arm.

Sam didn't know what to think, but he was sure, at this point, that Ember wasn't going to rip off his arm and beat him with it - at least, he hoped she wouldn't - so he let her take his hand.

_Trusting a demon, Sammy? Are you freaking kidding me? _Dean's words stung as they played across his memory, _What the Hell are you thinking?_

What the Hell, indeed.

"Damn it, Sammy, pick up!" Dean slammed his phone closed for the third time and shoved it back in his jeans pocket. More often than not lately, he found himself wondering where the Hell his brother was. Either Sam _really_ sucked at keeping his phone with him and audible or he just didn't pick the damn thing up when it rang. Dean prayed he wasn't in trouble. He didn't even want to think about the other possibilities. He'd been working really hard over the past year and a half, about, to re-build his trust in Sam. The lies, the blood, loosing his soul – and sure, maybe _that_ wasn't his fault, and maybe shoving it back in him hadn't been the best idea, either. It had all taken such a toll on him. Hell, he _still_ had nightmares about Lucifer wearing his brother's face and beating the crap out of him. Loosing Lisa and Ben had played Hell on his heart as well. He'd been through enough in the past several years; he deserved a damn medal for still being half-sane!

_That had better be you, Sam,_ he thought when his phone went off. He dug it out of his pocket and flipped it open. It was a text message. Of course it was. Why would Sam bother calling? Dean didn't text. He just sort of dealt with it, but from his brother, he expected a call.

Dean. Meet me at 5th and Hall – library.

_Great. Another address to track down._ According to the map, The Beaverton City Library wasn't far from the Fred Meyer parking lot he was sitting in. At least he wasn't going to have to drive all over Hell to find it.

The familiar sound of Deep Purple's Smoke on the Water sounded from Dean's pocket. He grumbled, digging it out. He'd gotten lost, turned around, and just plain confused four times already. It was almost as bad as trying to navigate The Bronx. He felt stupid thinking it… He couldn't even understand the map of The Bronx; much less drive its streets. Beaverton was clean and simple – for the most part.

"What?" He snapped into the phone.

"Dude, didn't you get my text?" Sam asked from the other end.

Dean sighed. He was trying to decide if he wanted to bash his head into the steering wheel or not, so frustrated by being lost in such a small and seemingly simple area, "Of course I got your text," he said, defensively.

"Okay… Where are you then?" Sam asked, "We've been waiting here for you for over an hour now."

"I'm – wait," Dean's words were halted. Sam said we… Just who exactly was _we_? "Who's we, exactly? I'm pretty sure I left you by yourself…"

Dean heard Sam sigh into the phone, and could only imagine some guilty expression on his face and his shoulders slumping like they usually did when he got caught doing something wrong. Even when he didn't do anything wrong, somehow, Dean had a habit of making his brother feel like he had anyway. It was a gift. He smiled a little at the thought.

"It's complicated, Dean," he said, "We can talk about it when you get here. Do you need directions?"

"No, I don't need freakin' directions!" Dean shouted, offended, "I'm…" He looked out the window for a street sign, "about a block away." He said, and he hung up. _Do I need directions... _He thought. He'd been from Canyon Rd. to Allen Blvd. and finally knew where he was. He could've used directions an hour ago. He drove the short block to the library and had trouble again, trying to figure out where the parking lot was. Trying to find parking proved to be another challenge in a parking lot designed for compact cars. The Impala was _not _that. Not even close. Dean ended up parking the car on the street on the other side of the library on Hall Blvd. He hated parallel parking on busy streets. He didn't like the thought of what kind of things could happen to his baby.

Dean jumped out the car and locked the door, stepping onto the grass next to the curb. Baskets of freshly watered flowers hung above, dripping on his head before he could move away from them. He glared at the flowers, promising to tear them apart when he got the chance. The area surrounding the library was nice and peaceful. There was a park across the street with a huge fountain that giggling children ran through, and a playground behind it where mom's sat and watched their kids play. There was a church parking lot next to the fountain that was filled with white and blue tents and people. There was a sign at the entrance advertising the Beaverton Farmer's Market. _Interesting use for a parking lot,_ Dean thought.

He walked down the sidewalk to the front of the library. There was a huge section of grass in front, with a single oak, more hanging flowers, and a couple small trees. It was a very well manicured area. There were 2 large cement planters willed with flowers on each side of the entrance, and cement benches that lined the grass. Sam was straddling one of them. He and a short, attractive girl were the only people outside. Dean assumed she was the _we_ Sam had been talking about. He looked like crap. Cut up and bruised; like he'd been locked in a cage with a lion. _Bad analogy,_ he thought, wincing. _What the Hell?_

"Dean!" Sam called, motioning him over.

Dean walked to where his brother was sitting and stood over him, "Wow Sammy," he said. He grinned, remembering something his brother had once told him, "Now who looks like they went 12 rounds with a block of cement?"

"Oh, ha-ha, Dean. Aren't you funny?" Sam rolled his eyes. He'd only been _sitting_ on a block of cement for an hour waiting for his older brother and he thought he could give him crap? Sam didn't think it was funny, "What took you so damn long, anyway?"

"Nothing," Dean stated, "It's not like I wasn't busy, you know? Who rearranged your face, Rocky?"

Again, Sam rolled his eyes.

"I did." The girl with Sam stopped twirling around and turned to face Dean. She was really short; just over five foot at the most. She had dark brown hair, dark eyes, pale skin, cute freckles… She was wearing a Peter Murphy t-shirt and leather pants with a big belt and boots. She was the kind of sexy Dean probably would have hit on in a bar. "He started it," she mumbled.

"Wha –

"Who are you?" Dean questioned, suspicious, cutting his brother off. Sam had given him plenty good reason to be suspicious of girls he was with. Ruby had screwed any chance of Dean _not_ worrying about his brother's sex life. There was something very wrong with that... Of course, it was possible Sam hadn't slept with her, but it didn't take a rocket surgeon to realize he most likely wanted too. She seemed enough his type, despite the goth shirt.

"I'm Ember," she said, extending her hand, "I don't bite," she whispered when Dean shied away from the hand-shake, but she let it go. She knew already that Dean wasn't going to like her simply because of the fact that she was a demon.

She held her hand out again, and this time Dean didn't reject it… Mostly because the blessed cross hidden in the palm of his hand would tell him if he was right about his first impression of her or not. If she wasn't a demon, he could always tell her he was an alter boy and that was just his rosary. Though, he highly doubted she was human. Not just any regular girl could get the drop on Sammy. Dean shook her hand and it sizzled. She pulled away as if the cross had bitten her and said, "_Ow_, you're rude! I shake your hand like a decent citizen and you _burn_ me? Dick." Ember's eyes bled black, and mostly because she was hurt, but she was also just a little upset. She felt that was reasonable. _Well, this should be just a grand old time,_ she thought, having second thoughts about helping them. And more importantly, getting help for herself.

"Sammy, can I have a word with you?" Dean asked, dragging his brother over by one of the big glass entrance doors and a big cement planter. He was angry now. Maybe he didn't know the story, but there sure as Hell was no excuse for this happening again, "What the _Hell _are you thinking, man?" He hissed, "She's a demon! I thought you learned that lesson already?"

Sam knew this was coming, but he still didn't know what to say, not really. He'd put Dean through things no other brother would forgive, and Dean was still there for him, still trying to be a good son and protect his little brother. He admired how well Dean put up with him because he knew that if their roles were reversed, it probably wouldn't be the same story.

"I don't know, Dean…" Sam said in a hushed tone, "I told you it was complicated. I was checking out that old house, and she came out of nowhere. I knew she was a demon before I even saw her; I could smell her, but I don't know. Something's just… _Different_ about her."

"Different? Seriously, Sammy?" Dean was outraged. Ruby had seemed different too, and what did _she_ do? She convinced Sam it was a good thing he was doing by drinking her blood, getting him addicted; she helped him kill Lilith and break the final seal, releasing Lucifer from his cage and starting the apocalypse in motion. Oh, she wasn't a lying, manipulative bitch at all… "Demons _lie_, Sam. You know that, dammit!"

"Obviously, Dean!" Sam was getting angry now too. He already knew his brother wouldn't understand the situation, Hell, he wasn't sure _he_ understood the situation. He knew Ember was a demon, and he also knew she needed help. He didn't know with what, and he fully intended to find out, but when he looked at her, he saw a scared girl rather than a lying demon. "Look, she wouldn't be here if I thought she'd attack us in public –

"She already attacked you, Sam!" Dean practically shouted. He realized there was no real point in whispering because a demon could hear a whisper easily, "Just tell me what the Hell is going on so I can decide whether or not to beat your ass."

Sam sighed, "She seems sincere, Dean, and before you shoot it down, hear me out. I initiated the fight, okay. I think _demon_, and I think _kill it_. She said she just wanted to talk to me. She _cried_, Dean," he said, "and I don't mean like fake, typical demon oh-please-pity-me-so-I-can-stab-you-in-the-back tears, I mean like honest to God _baby_ tears. There's something wrong with her, and I don't know…" he trailed off, thinking, "I kinda want to find out what. I mean, she _looks_ sick. That's odd for a demon. It took her forever to heal, when usually a demon can heal in seconds if they even show a sign of being wounded."

It was Dean's turn to sigh, "Sam, you know, sometimes I wish you were more of an asshole."

"I was once, remember?" Sam grinned. His fights with Dean didn't usually last long, even if he had royally screwed up like when he'd freed Lucifer, "And then you shoved my soul back inside and now you get good old _'Sammy'_ back."

Dean laughed. Sam hated being called Sammy. He worried how much of his memory from his time without a soul was coming back. Just how fast was that wall that was blocking him from the damage Michael and Lucifer had caused his soul coming down? He didn't want to think about it. He was terrified he was going to lose his brother again, and this time if he did, it would be his fault for pushing the whole soul thing. It was true that Sam was a better hunter without it. He was more… Practical. But he was a worse human being, and not really even Sam. Not his little brother. Not without his soul.

"Okay," Dean said, all serious-and-back-to-business, "but if she pisses me off even _once_, I'm gankin' her."

Sam could live with that. He didn't really know why, but he kind of liked Ember. He felt... Drawn to her somehow. He knew to watch his back because it was well known that demons lied. He had thought that maybe it wasn't true back when he was with Ruby, but she'd proven him wrong in a pretty big way. He'd felt so stupid. How could he have let her manipulate him and not even realize it was happening? He wasn't likely to let it happen again.

Sam and Dean walked back to the cement bench and the patiently waiting demon – that was chewing her fingernails. Now that Dean looked at her more closely, she really did look sick. Her eyes were puffy and pink around the edges and she was very pale. More pale than she should have been, and she'd started out that way. She was ghostly. Weird.

"So?" she questioned as they walked up to her, "Is this my death sentence? Do I get a final request? Cause I could really go for a salad or something…" Ember said it to be a smart-ass, but she also meant it. Her stomach felt like it was tearing itself apart, and the only thought her mind kept going back to was food. Demons eat, yeah, but they don't really need to. This… _hunger pain_ she didn't even remember existed until now, flooding memories of her life back to her in shattered images. She'd liked salad… a lot. And now she wanted one. She hoped that if the infamous Winchester brothers had decided she was to die, they'd at least give her that pleasure before hand.

"Today's your lucky day," Dean told her, rolling his eyes, "let's go."

_Ember played in the grass with her little sister, jumping back and forth, dodging her grasp. It was a fun game. The girls had played in the tall grass outside the Milton House all summer while their mother worked the front desk. Ember was 11 and her sister 8. They were the best of friends and the spitting image of each other, and their estranged father. Ember remembered the day clearly. It was the day she met the red eyed girl; tiny, frail looking girl about her age looking for a friend to play with on the teeter totter. Ember didn't want to play. It seemed to her that life just couldn't possibly go on. Her little sister had run out into the road to get their ball without looking a couple hours earlier and had gotten hit by a car. She died before the ambulance arrived._

"_I know how you feel," the frail little girl had said, "I understand your pain. What if I could bring her back to you?"_

_Ember didn't know this girl, so she thought it was strange that she would say something like that. How would she know anything? She was just a random kid at the park Ember had run away to. "Go away," she whispered, too sad to speak any higher._

_The girl smiled, "but I can help you," she said, "I'm only here because you need me," she said, "I'm here to make things all better. You want your sister back, healthy and happy, and I can give her back to you. But you have to give me something in return. What do you think?"_

_Ember thought about it. She really did want Megan back. She'd been ripped away so suddenly that it didn't even seem real. Maybe she could convince her mother that it wasn't real, that it was just a bad dream and Megan was okay and everything was going to be okay… "What do you want?" she asked, curious._

"_It's a little thing that you don't really need and I don't want it right now. It's nothing you need to worry yourself about," she the girl, her eyes turning a bloody red, "I will come back in 15 years to collect it, and your sister will be alive and healthy and living a happy life. What do you say?"_

_Ember didn't like the little girl. She had scary eyes, and she'd never met anyone that had eyes quite like hers. She'd seen a man with black eyes once in an the alleyway behind her mom's old apartment, and he'd been a mean man. She'd run and hid from him. She felt the same about this girl. She thought, and she thought hard. She didn't know what the girl want, but 15 years was a long time, so she didn't really care. She could have whatever she wanted if she would bring Megan back and more importantly go away._

"_Okay," Ember said, slowly, "if you can really bring Megan back…"_

"_Of course I can," the little girl grinned, "You have to kiss me," she said, "right on the lips! I know it sounds gross, but it's the only way. Just a peck and we can both pretend it never happened." She giggled._

_Ember agreed, kissed her and then quickly wiped her mouth. The little girl with the red eyes told her to run home, and that Megan would be there when she got there. It was true. Ember ran up the front porch of the Milton House, and her sister was there by the staircase, her dress was clean when the last time she'd seen her, it had been soaked in blood, and she was smiling this huge, mischievous smile. Ember was relieved. She wondered what the red eyed girl wanted, but wasn't worried. She'd worry about that in 15 years. Until then, she had her little sister back. She wouldn't be lonely and her mother wouldn't be sad. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all._

Ember sat bolt upright in the backseat of the Impala, beads of sweat forming and dripping down her forehead. She'd always hated crossroads demons. They were the worst of them. They would say and do anything to get you to make a deal. She'd hated the time she'd spent as one. She was disgusted and appalled by the amount of selfish people that wanted to make petty deals with her. Hell, at least the deal _she'd _made was for a good cause. Megan grew up happy and loving life. She even got married and Ember had been the maid of honor. She really wasn't enjoying the more and more frequent trips down memory lane…

The car was empty, and parked in front of a little diner that advertised 25 cent apple pie. She pushed the passanger seat forward, opened the door and got out. She was just short enough that it was simple for her, but she'd noticed that Sam, being the taller of the two boys, had trouble getting in and out. Walking into the diner, she noticed it was smoky, despite the No Smoking sign on the door and inside wall.

"Just one today?" A polite, short man approached her with menus and a notebook.

"Actually," she said, "I'm here with the 2 guys that came in earlier… One's really tall and the other one probably flirts with all your female staff…?"

The man laughed, "I know exactly who you mean… The lumberjack and the hot-head," he said, and motioned for Ember to follow him.

Ember laughed to herself. At least now she knew what she was going to call them if they ever pissed her off, though she thought Moose might be cuter for Sam. He kind of resembled one. She followed the short man to a booth around the corner, and saw Sam; his back, anyway, and Dean lounging in the booth across from him. Dean looked up and spotted her, rolling his eyes.

He scowled, "And we were _so_ hoping you'd just died in the back seat on your own. Pity," he said, smiling, "You are _not_ sitting by me."

Ember stuck her tongue out at him, so many things she could've chosen to say and didn't, thanked the waiter and scooted in next to Sam, "Let me guess," she said, "You don't want to sit by me either? I mean, I can go get my own booth elsewhere."

Sam glared at her, "You remember that attitude you were telling me about?" He asked, "You might want to work on that. Dean wasn't kidding when he said he'd gank you if you pissed him off." He handed her a menu, "You _were_ hungry, right?"

Ember smiled, remembering the salad she'd wanted, but said, "Gee, Sam, and here I thought we could just be friends and get past this whole demon thing. I'm really not that bad once you get to know me…"

"Ha!" Dean shouted, "I bet you're just a big ball of sunshine!"

"I am, actually, yes," Ember said, otherwise ignoring him.

She ordered a side salad and a cup of coffee. She didn't remember the last time she'd had a good cup of coffee. She didn't remember the last time she'd _needed_ one. She felt exhausted, and was sure she looked even worse, especially after waking up. She didn't need to sleep, not usually, and she didn't honestly remember falling asleep. She knew the diner they were at wasn't far from the library, so she couldn't have been out long. A half an hour at the most.

"Last I checked," Sam said, "Demons don't sleep, so what's your deal?" he asked.

Ember stared at him, not knowing exactly what to say. She didn't know what was wrong with her, why she suddenly was very tired, needed food, was having flashbacks to a previous life, and everything else… If she could explain it, she would. She also wouldn't need their help – she didn't think. Sam just stared at her, Dean too, both waiting for something to pop out of her mouth. What was she supposed to say?

"Um, I don't know… This is _all_ new for me," she said, shrugging her shoulders, "I'm exhausted, hungry, irritated, sore... That's all I know," she sighed, "_Really_," she added when Dean looked at her as if she were a liar, and that was completely fair. And she hated it. "I'm not lying, okay. I mean, I would… If I wanted you to think I was this big bad scary demon that you should fear because I'll kill you in your sleep or whatever, but I'm not. I don't know what _this _is," she said, waving her hand over her body, "and I don't know how to fix it."

"That's what you think we can help you with?" Sam asked, looking at her like she'd just walked out of the loony bin and followed them home.

"I don't know," she said, staring at her hands folded in her lap, "maybe… I mean, I had hoped… I don't know! I mean, I'd like to know why this is happening. It's kind of annoying, but in the meantime, I can help you. I promise not to make a nuisance of myself or get in the way or cause any unnecessary problems."

Dean snorted, "Right, and I'll buy that for a dollar!"

Ember just glared at him across the table, "This is me burning a hole in your skull with my eyes. A couple months ago I probably could've done it literally," she said, knowing it was an obvious lie. _Clearly not helping your case, stupid,_ she thought. "Sorry," she said.

"Whatever," said Dean, shoving a huge piece of apple pie in his mouth, "So, how can _you_ help _us_?" he asked, his mouth full of food.

"Well," Ember replied, "for starters, there isn't a spirit here. Not one that's causing a riff anyway."

Dean almost choked on his pie. It brightened Ember's day a little, "What do you _mean_ there's no spirit here?"

"I mean there's no spirit here. What part of that wasn't clear?" She asked, kicking him under that table.

Sam cleared his throat, as if to warn Ember to knock it off. She really was pretty confrontational. He could tell she and Dean were going to get along great. Not. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he kind of liked it. He knew she wasn't trying to start a fight, and it was pretty funny to have someone else yanking Dean's chain for once, especially a girl he was pretty sure his brother at _least_ found attractive.

Dean kicked her back and she almost jumped out of the booth. She couldn't believe how much that hurt.

"Okay," Sam shouted, "are we going to act like children or actually get some work done? So, there's no spirit here… What going on then? There've been ten drownings in the same house in the last six months. They _all_ seem to have been caused by a vengeful spirit. The EMF is off the charts in that house, and there's ectoplasm by the pool. If it's not some pissed off spirit, then what is it?"

"If it's not a spirit, what else could it be..." she mocked, "It's a Kelpie," Ember stated, "I saw her today. Ugly bitch. They lure their victims into the water, generally, drown them, and sometimes eat them leaving behind either the heart or liver, and that's what's happened with all ten victims in this case. All that was left of the adult males was their heart and liver. They still don't want people in the house, but it's not being monitored." She'd done her research. Of course. She didn't like Kelpie's. "They usually don't leave Scotland and Ireland. Until now, as far as anyone knew, they hadn't been seen in the U.S."

Sam and Dean just stared at her, their faces blank. Dean was happy to think she was crazy. He'd heard stories of Kelpie's and didn't relish the idea of fighting one… Iron works, to get rid of them for a time, but they come back, and they come back furious. Silver couldn't even hurt them, and iridium isn't easy to come by, nor is it cheap. As far as he knew, iridium was the only thing that could truly kill a Kelpie, but for a long time, they thought the same about shape-shifters. Of course, if you wanted to hurt a shape-shifter, iridium was definitely the way to go. Silver did just fine for killing them though. Dean wished silver did the same to Kelpie's, but everything he'd read said silver was useless, and he didn't really care for the idea of experimenting with it - most of what he knew came from freakin' fairy-tales!

"Well," he said, lounging back into the booth, "this is new. Where the Hell are we going to find an iridium blade around here – long enough to keep its sticky claws away? Hunting doesn't exactly pay well, ya know?"

"If it _is_ a Kelpie, what's it doing here?" Sam asked, browsing through the notes in his laptop, "The last one spotted even in Europe was over 40 years ago in Berlin."

"Well," said Ember, "Let's find out."

Dean didn't like the idea much, but it was decided that Ember would go with him while Sam dug up what he could on the easiest way to kill a Kelpie. Ember had complained as well. Sam didn't want her there when he was trying to get things done. She was distracting, and she liked to talk. So far, Sam liked what she had to talk about. He enjoyed listening. Ember was quite the story teller… She remembered more about her human life than any demon he'd ever come across, and her life, however short it may have been, had been an interesting one. When it came down to concentrating on something, though, she needed to not be around, or she needed to be quiet and out of his range of view - he had a difficult time _not _looking at her. He sent her with Dean partly to torment him. It was only 2 weeks ago that he'd put itching powder in Sam's boxers again. He'd take payback in whatever form he could get it.

Dean couldn't really complain too much, either. Ember _was_ useful. She'd proven she could stand up with the big boys and pick locks, throw punches, do her homework and even wield a gun. What else did she really need to know? Okay, well, there was a lot, but Sam was pretty sure she could handle herself, even being sick, as oddly enough, she was. That was another thing Sam was going to look into while he was alone in their cheap motel room.

They'd tried a cheap little place in Beaverton, but the tiny Indian man behind the counter wouldn't take a credit card from Charles Manson. Funny thing, that. They were able to find a little run down motel that even had hourly rates, in Aloha, a couple minutes down Tualatin Valley Highway from Beaverton. It was small. The 2 full beds were thin, and lumpy, the shower didn't work most of the time, and the walls were paper thin, but a room's a room – and a room's always better than the front seat of the Impala.

There weren't many demonic illnesses about. The only one Sam was really familiar with was the Croatoan virus, and that didn't affect demons, it was caused by demons. This was something he was completely in the dark about. He didn't even know where to start looking. He could've used some help from Bobby. Hell, even Castiel would've helped. He couldn't be reached though, no matter how dire the situation and Bobby was taking some very much needed time off. He supposed if he couldn't dig anything up, he could start hunting down demons for information, but he wasn't sure how much he trusted himself to do it alone. Ember had already tempted him once, and even though her blood seemed weak to him, the urge was still there, fresh on the surface. He wanted it. He didn't _want_ to want it, but he couldn't change the fact. Only fight it.

Needing a break from staring at his little laptop screen, Sam took a shower. The water barely drizzled out in a little stream, but it was hot, and hot was good no matter how crappy the water pressure. Spending so much of his life sitting in a car, sometimes, he'd take a hot shower just to take one; to loosen his muscles. He never seemed to get used to it. His muscles would spasm and cramp up and his joints would lock and pop. Between the constant damage from any of the jobs they would take to being stuck in the same position for hours on end everyday, Sam was surprised he could still walk and stand upright.

After his shower, he went back to looking for answers. Still, finding nothing too useful. Nothing realistic and helpful on Kelpie's, though, he probably would have to look at the library for something like that. The internet was crammed full of garbage. Some of it even saying that Kelpie's were flower people. Sometimes, the things he read online looking for lore on different beings or information on anything in general blew his mind. He didn't think it was possible for anything to surprise him anymore, but he was wrong.

Finally, after over and hour of hopeless research, he stumbled upon something that might have been helpful to Ember, though he doubted it. He found an obscure essay on demons being banished from Hell. It didn't say too much and was extremely vague, but it mentioned sickness. It was worth a glance, at the very least.

Dean drove, white knuckling his steering wheel, to the home of Daniel St. John's, the owner of the property they were investigating. He did _not_ want a demon in his passenger seat… Even if she _could_ be trusted, she was still a demon. He hated it on principle alone. He knew Sam had paired them on purpose – probably to get back at him for the itching powder, but still. It was wrong. She was staring out the window, smiling at something unknown, and otherwise causing no intentional distress, but Dean couldn't deal with the fact the she was in his passenger seat. That was Sam's seat. She should be in back. It didn't matter that Sam wasn't there. Only his brother got to ride shot-gun at the moment. He'd allow Bobby in the passenger seat, almost any other hunter he trusted, which honestly weren't many, and Cas. Though, no matter how many times he called him, Castiel just didn't seem to care to show his face.

"You can breathe, Dean" Ember said, making him jump, "Wow. Just… _Wow_."

"Shut up," Dean snapped.

"You Winchesters… You know, I got a right to talk," she said, glaring holes into Dean's skull, "You really _are_ scared of me, aren't you?"

Dean laughed at that. What else could he do? Ember was the least scary demon he'd ever met. She was even less scary than some crossroads demons he'd come across and crossroads demons were nothing more than sales people for the devil. "Scared is not what I am," he said, staring at the road.

"Okay, so what is it then?" Ember asked.

"Does it matter?" Dean asked, angrily, "Sam likes you for some stupid reason, and for some stupid reason he wants to help you. I'll tell you something… If you manipulate us in any way, I'll kill you with my hands."

"Can you even do that to a demon? I mean, really… Kill me with your bare hands? You can't even kill me with regular bullets," Ember scoffed, "You have two weapons, three, even, that could kill me. And that's it. I haven't given you a reason to use any of them. Nor will I. I told you, I need help, and in exchange, I can help you. Like I told Sam, I don't have an ulterior motive. I don't need one."

"First of all, we have two weapons that can kill you," Dean said, "and we could always exorcise you as well. I don't trust you. You can't trust a demon."

"Fine. Think what you want. You don't have to trust me," Ember said, pouting, "Sam trusts me, at least a little, or he wouldn't leave me alone with you. I'm glad at least someone wants to help me because honestly… This isn't cool. I feel… _awful!"_

"Good."

"Dick." Ember whispered, crossing her arms. She didn't think she liked being stuck in a car with Dean either, so he could just suck it up and get over it. She didn't really dislike Dean, but he had one of those personalities that always collided with hers. She remembered multiple incidents in school where she was expelled for fighting. Her grandmother was always furious that she had to keep enrolling her in different schools and court-ordered programs. It made things worse that Ember had a problem with authority figures. One time she recalled made her giggle. She'd been so mad the judge had forced anger management classes that she'd run up and punched him right in the mouth. She'd gotten off so lucky, with him not pressing any charges at all, but rather, sending her to boot camp in another state.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked, glancing over at her. She looked dreamy. She was the strangest demon he'd ever met.

"Just something I remembered," she mumbled, looking out the window trying not to giggle, "A long time ago, I punched a judge in the face at a hearing for my _violent behaviors_. I find it funny. That's all."

"Wait… You _what_?" There were a couple law enforcement agents he'd kill to be able to punch in the nose, at the very least. She decked a judge, in court… Dean didn't think he'd ever actually go _that_ far.

Ember laughed. She'd never actually shared that story in her life before Hell, and didn't even remember it until just then, "He wanted me to take more anger management classes… Honestly, it was the first time I ever left Arizona. He sent me to a boot camp in Washington."

"So, this is a memory?" Dean asked, "I mean, demons don't usually remember much of their past-lives, and as far as I've heard, prefer not too. You seem to have a lot of those..."

"Yeah, I don't know," Ember glared out the window at the passing trees, "It's been happening more and more often lately. Flashbacks, or whatever. I remember a lot of things now… Like my grandmother's recipe for blueberry pancakes even… Useless information, by the way, because they were awful; like soggy cardboard."

"I guess there really is something wrong with you."

Ember glared at him. He was, in her opinion, arrogant and annoying. She wasn't some evil devil's-plaything like she used to be. She had nothing to do with anything going on in Hell, she wouldn't even know. She did know that the hoards were leaderless and it was all chaos all the time, and not the kind of chaos the devil's minions preferred.

"You know," Ember said, reaching over and punching Dean in the shoulder, "I'm really not a liar. I mean, I've told a good lie or fifty in my time, but I'm being completely honest with you. Yeah," she rolled her eyes, "odd for a demon. Whatever."

"Dude, you punched me!" Dean wasn't really surprised, but demons just didn't do the whole playful punching thing, "Oh, I think this is it," he said, looking out the window at the huge old house of Daniel St. Johns. It was just as creepy – if not more – than he was expecting it to be. The lawn was overgrown into a small jungle, the paint was chipping off everywhere and the porch railings were rusted. The wooden steps looked rotted and unsafe and the windows were blacked out, one, upstairs, was broken. It looked like the kind of haunted house you hear about in campfire stories.

"Think his landscaper died?" Ember asked, "This grass hasn't been mowed in centuries."

Dean opened his door and climbed out, and Ember followed. She was a good actress, so she hoped they could pull this off. They were posing as insurance agents that needed information on the deaths at the house in Beaverton. Maybe Mr. St. Johns had something to do with them. His home certainly gave a spooky, I'm-gonna-kill-you-in-your-sleep-and-eat-your-children kind of vibe… It's not like it was impossible that he could've been the one that raised the Kelpie.

"So, uh, follow my lead, okay?" Dean said on the way up the rickety steps.

"Oh, _of course_, Dean, whatever you say."

Two hours later, they'd learned next to nothing. Mr. St. Johns was probably as old as his house; wheel-chair and oxygen bound, and had no information to offer on the deaths at the Beaverton house. He'd leased it out to a Ms. Caroline Jennings, and hadn't kept close tabs on the property. He knew she paid her rent on time and in full every month, or he wouldn't be able to keep his caretakers. That was all that really mattered to him. He was considering offering to just sell the place to her, but he was forgetful and hadn't asked.

"Damn it, that was a waste of time," Dean complained on the way back to the car, "Guess we should go track down this Jennings girl." Dean had been running around on false leads throughout the last three jobs he and Sam had taken, and he really hoped this wasn't going to be the same. He turned his key in the ignition and listened to his car purr to life. It was a good sound. He'd put the Impala back together in whole or in part more times than he could count, and he was proud of how well he had her running after so many years of long drives and damage. Without Bobby's help, he'd have had no choice but to scrap her, and that would've damn near killed him.

Dean wished he could call Bobby for help on this one, but everyone needed a break every now and then. According to Rufus, who'd been killed by a demonic parasite, Sam and Dean took more jobs and less breaks than almost any other hunter. But then, most hunters don't work in teams, either, so it would make sense that they would tire more easily, and besides that, Sam and Dean grew up in this life. It was practically all they knew. It was certainly all _Dean_ knew. Sam had had his time at Stanford, which was probably the closest thing to normal either of them ever had and ever would have.

"What are you thinking about?" Ember asked. Dean still hadn't moved the car, and since he'd started it, she wondered why. He was really quiet.

"Oh," he said, startled out of his thoughts, "Nothing. Sorry. Hey, you're a good actress, I'll give you that, but how do you know so much about insurance?" She'd asked Mr. St. Johns questions he'd never think to ask, and it made them seem more legit, especially since Dean's questions had seemed very off-the-wall. Sure, she was a demon, but demons didn't know _everything_.

"I don't know, really…" she replied, "It's just… what… sounded right." Ember felt winded suddenly, and nauseous. She'd been feeling out-of-sorts for a while now, but this was new. She was light-headed, woozy, and she couldn't see straight. _Ugh, what is that?_ She thought.

"Hey, you okay?" Dean asked. _Why the Hell am I asking a demon if it's okay?_ He asked himself. She looked horrible.

"I don't…" She trailed off. She felt like she couldn't breathe, she definitely couldn't talk anymore. What was going on? She'd felt fine just seconds ago. She felt as weak as… a human. Her heart was racing at the speed of light, and she was panicking. She groped around for something to hold onto till it passed… or whatever. Maybe until she died? She really hoped that wasn't what this was. She gripped Dean's arm and squeezed, even though she knew he wouldn't like that much. Surprisingly, he tried to help her, but he looked at a complete loss. The expression on his face said, _Oh, God, what do I do?_ Ember was hyperventilating, and bits of gray and black were eating away at her vision. She fainted, her head falling onto Dean's shoulder.

_What the Hell?_ Dean thought. This sort of thing didn't happen to demons. If there was a problem with the body or anything like that, they knew their exit. She had a fever. A _high_ fever. "Sonofabitch!" he said under his breath. He drove back to the motel, confused and irritated. Sam was a good man. He was clearly right for wanting to help her. He'd never admit it out loud, but he wanted to help her too. If she were human, she'd probably be dying right now, but she wasn't. If she were human, he'd rush her right to the hospital. They passed one on the way. St. Vincent's or something like that... Ember was a demon, though, and Dean didn't have the first clue. He knew that he should get back to Sam and probably get Ember in a bed, and from there, they'd figure it out.

Dean kicked the door to room twenty-two with his foot, hoping Sam was there. For such a small thing, Ember was heavy. Carrying her up the stairs was an annoying challenge, and they were narrow, so it was hard not to smack her head on the railing. He probably would have too, if she hadn't looked so pathetic... and even child-like in his arms.

Sam unlocked and opened the door, his eyes going wide when he saw his brother. He moved aside so he could maneuver in with Ember. "Dean, what did you _do_ to her?" He asked, assuming his brother had lost his temper and just killed her or something.

"Damn it, dude, I didn't do anything!" Dean said breathlessly, laying Ember on Sam's bed, "She just... fainted. Or something. She has a fever. I don't know what the Hell, man, but there's _definitely_ something wrong with her."

"Does that mean your days of questioning my judgment are over?" Sam smirked.

"Far from it, Sammy."

Sam stared at the girl in his bed, and he couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever be there under different circumstances. He felt guilty wanting her, but he couldn't really change it. Dean would want her too, had he met her, say, in a bar or something. He'd probably even try to take her home. Sam shook his head, "What's wrong with _your_ bed?" he asked, "I was sitting there."

"It's simple, Sam," Dean replied, a huge grin on his face, "She'd end up in your bed eventually anyway." Dean thought he was pretty funny. He jumped at any opportunity to pick on his brother, and this seemed like a pretty good one. They really did need to figure out what was wrong with her, though, and deal with the Kelpie, "So, did you find anything?"

"Nothing useful, really," Sam said, deciding to let Dean's comment go, "As far as Kelpie's go, the internet's not the best place to look. Most of the lore I dug up is falsified."

"Awesome. You know, we could just leave the oily bitch for someone else to deal with," Dean suggested, knowing it would never happen. He couldn't leave this town knowing he could have done something about the problem and didn't, "What about her?" He pointed towards the demon on the bed, "anything to figure that out?"

Sam rubbed his head, and grabbed a stack of papers off the table, "I printed these up at the office while you were gone," he said, handing the papers to Dean, "I don't know how reliable the source is, but it's the only thing I found. I've never heard of this happening before, but according to the guy that wrote this, some Dr. James P. Howard, in the year 1947, a demon was exiled from Hell, and ended up becoming more human than demon. He became ill at first, shaking, fevers, weakness… and was tormented by memories of his life. He was locked up in his house, mostly, until he died a couple days later."

"That sounds exactly like what's happening to her," Dean said, looking up at Sam from the papers in his hands, "She was telling me in the car about a memory she had, but she didn't seem tortured at all. She has a fever, she seems weak…" he shook his head, "Makes you wonder, Sammy… Who's in control down there? Lucifer's in his cage, Crowley's dead… and what does a demon get exiled for anyway?"

"This demon told his story to Howard, right?" Sam asked, and it wasn't so much a question, "Well Howard wrote that the demon's name was Nepham and he claimed that he was exiled for keeping the location of Samuel Colt a secret. They tried torturing it out of him, and he wouldn't break so they got rid of him. What I don't get though, is why they wouldn't just kill him?"

Dean was thinking very hard. Samuel Colt designed the only gun capable of killing a demon; of course demons were after him, but why would a demon help him? It was a question for another time, but one he'd keep on the top of that list, "Maybe being stuck top-side and human was a better punishment…" he mused. "So, what did she do? More importantly, who holds the power down there to do something like that? It says here," Dean flicked the page he was looking at, "that it takes a good deal of power to exile a demon, which makes sense as to why we haven't heard of it happening before now."

"I don't know Dean," Sam said, sitting on the edge of his bed, "Nepham told Howard that Lucifer risked a ton of strength to force him into a mortal life. It's not something he would do often, and maybe we're lucky Nepham chose to share his story. I mean, without this, we'd have nothing to go on at all."

"Does it say anything about what killed Nepham?" Dean asked, flipping through the pages. Sam always thought he did things like that to look smart. He flipped too fast to be able to read anything. He flung the papers onto his bed and sat in one of the rickety chairs by the table.

"Howard wasn't clear on that, but I'm assuming he died from heart failure. He wrote that the demon was increasingly stressed and paranoid, even scared. At one point, he wouldn't leave his room because he thought Lucifer made him human so he could torture him again, in a weaker, more defenseless state, to get Colt's location out of him. That fear on top of the flashbacks and somehow being trapped in his meat-suit, feeling pain and all that drove him mad, and you know what fear can do to you, Dean…"

Dean remembered clearly. A ghost sickness… He ran screaming from a purse-dog, convinced that it was a Hellhound. He'd almost had a heart attack from fear. It wasn't just the Yorkie, but everything. He'd been scared to sleep on any floor but the first in their motel, even, because what if he fell out the window?

"Okay," Dean said, shaking the memory, "Ember isn't exactly shaking in her boots, here, Sammy," he said, motioning toward the unconscious girl, "does the good Dr. have any grand-kids we could track down? Maybe he had a notebook or something that wasn't published that might be able to give us more insight."

"Right," Sam said, scratching his head, "about that... The site I found this on…"

Dean sighed and waved his hand, as if to say, _Let's hear it._

"Well, it's registered to a girl named Samantha Howard, the website is. It's a demon lore site… and... Dean... she's a fan."

Dean looked up at his brother, "a _what?"_

Sam grinned. He loved scaring his brother with stupid little things like this. Dean wasn't so much scared of Chuck's fans as _really_ weary of them. They'd been to a convention with Chuck because a fan told them it was urgent and they were needed. It had been… an experience. "There's a section for fan-fiction in the navigation bar of her site, and she… writes about us."

Dean put his head between his knees, "I'm not going, Sam." He said through gritted teeth.

"We're all going, Dean," Sam informed him, "if Ember wakes up, anyway. Otherwise, I suppose we're leaving her here and braving the slash fan alone."

Dean's eyes went wide, "_What?_ No way, Sammy. We can find someone else to talk to. Fans are bad enough! _Slash_ fans are…" Dean shivered, trying not to think about squealy little book worms fantasizing about him and his brother together. It was just sick. And wrong. And all-together more than Dean cared to deal with. _Girls should be picturing me with them. Not me with Sam._ Nothing made him cringe more.

Despite Dean's arguments, it was settled. They were going to go talk to Samantha Howard, put the Kelpie on hold and pray she didn't kill anyone else, and try to pretend they weren't Sam and Dean of the _Supernatural_ novels while asking very specific questions about demons and things she believed to be fiction and out of the mind of a reclusive, alcoholic writer. The plan was to keep things geared toward Dr. Howard and his writing to avoid even bringing Chuck's books into the conversation. Even Sam thought it was a long shot. They'd eventually have to give up, or convince her that her beloved books were, in reality, written about their lives. And far, _far_ from what she fantasized about.

Ember hadn't woken up. She wasn't dead, and that was good, but Sam and Dean had no way of knowing if and when she would wake up. Dean would have felt better showing up at Ms. Howard's house with a woman. Maybe she would have been more on Sam's arm than his, of course, but it would have lent to the fact that they were _not_ together. Samantha Howard lived in Port Angeles, WA; about a day's drive from Portland. As much as he wanted not to care, Dean hoped Ember would be okay while he and Sam were gone. Sam had left her a note in case she woke up. Hopefully they could return with some kind of news. Good or bad, any news is better than no news.

Ms. Howard's home was a small, single level, old-fashioned house in the woods on the outskirts of Port Angeles. They'd really gotten lucky she lived so close. Otherwise they either would have had to forget about the Kelpie and pack everything into the Impala, including Ember, or put Ember on hold, kill the Kelpie – if they could, and_ then_ go find Ms. Howard.

"You okay, Dean?" Sam asked, peering at his brother over the hood of the car.

"I'm fine," he replied, "Let's just get this over with." Dean didn't care for the idea of slash. He knew Sam didn't either, but Sam… Always the professional... He wouldn't show a bit of discomfort in there. Dean didn't know how _not _too. He'd almost have preferred if Sam hadn't shared that piece of info, but then he probably would've gotten quite the unwelcome shock.

Sam took two steps at a time up to Ms. Howard's porch and pushed the doorbell. He'd hit his insane growth spurt around fourteen, so his legs were longer than Dean's (and he was always picking on him for it – Dean may have been the older brother, but he was certainly the smaller of the two). Used to mean he walked faster, but Dean had learned to keep up when they were young. After all, it was his responsibility alone to look after little Sammy – who wasn't so little anymore.

A short, thin woman in her late 20's swung the door open, a huge grin on her face. It was a good face. Huge doe-like green eyes, full pouty red lips, little freckles on her little nose… Her make-up was dark enough for five girls to have shared her eyeliner, and her long black hair was in thousands of tiny braids with skull shaped pewter beads at the end of them here and there. Dean couldn't help but notice she had an amazing body. Her little black Metallica tank top perfectly lined perfect, bra-less, breasts, and a tight, muscled stomach. Her arms were flawless and strong. Her faded jeans hung low on her hips, exposing a tattoo that could mirror his and Sam's, only hers was on her pelvic bone. She had a thick, spiked leather belt with bullets in it wrapped around her jeans, but not in the loops. She was barefoot, exposing another tattoo Dean couldn't make out, and perfectly painted black toenails.

Her smile faded. "You're not Alice," she said, befuddled, "Can I help you?"

Dean didn't really even care that she was a slash fan anymore. He liked her. Well, he only knew that given half the chance, he'd take her to bed with him, but she was hot, and therefore deserved the truth. Right?

Sam started speaking and Dean cut him off, stepping on his foot, "I'm Dean," he said, and this is my brother, Sam." He smiled like a dork.

Sam rolled his eyes. _Gee, Dean, I'm sure she's gonna buy that one… _He thought.

Ms. Howard giggled, "You must be larpers!" She squealed, "Have you read my new story?" Her mood lightened once more, that beautiful smile spreading over her face again. She had perfect teeth. At least she hadn't responded to them the way Chuck had.

Sam cleared his throat, "Um, we're actually here about Dr. James P. Howard… I found an article of his on your website, and was curious if you could tell us a little more about him?"

Again, her face dropped. She was confused. She stepped out onto the porch looking suspicious, _and insanely gorgeous,_ Dean thought, "Who are you guys?" She asked, still friendly.

"I told you," Dean said, "I'm Dean, and this is my brother, Sam. We're here about your grandfather – _great_ grandfather, maybe?"

"Yeah, James was my great grandfather," she said hesitantly, leaning against the door frame, "Crazy old man…" She shook her head, "You aren't going to tell me your real names, are you?"

Dean grinned, "Yeah," he said, "I'm Robert Plant and this is Jimmy Page." He pointed a finger at his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes, "I'm sorry," he said, "You're a _Supernatural_ fan, right? Well, we're not, not really. Chuck's a good guy and all, but this is our life. My name is Sam Winchester and I was born in Lawrence, Kansas a couple years after my brother here. Our mother died in a nursery fire, our father became a hunter, trained us to become the same, I went to Stanford, my girlfriend died – _please_, for the love of God, don't ask me what my LSAT score was! Look, we're trying to help a friend, and the article you published on your site might lead us in the right direction. We were really hoping you might be some help."

Ms. Howard stared at him, thinking, "Come in," She said, standing aside for them, "I'm not sure I believe you, but you two seem... _neat._ I'd love to talk to you, and Hell, if it's 'Dr. Howard'," she said in a sarcastic voice, "you want to hear about, sure… I have tons of stories."

Sam and Dean walked in to the family room, and waited for Ms. Howard to follow. She said, "Come on, guys, don't be shy. The kitchen's this way," and they followed her to an over-sized kitchen with plants on almost every surface.

"Sorry about the _foliage_," she said the last with a French accent, "it's a sickness, what can I say? I just love the little buggers! Here, take a seat, guys." She pointed them in the direction of her little table.

"You have a lot of Viburnum out there," Sam mused, looking out the large bay windows in the dining room.

"Oh, yeah," she said, spinning around the kitchen, pulling things out of cupboards, "Devil's Shoestring, Honeysuckle, Goat's Rue – whatever name you have for it. It keeps the Hellhounds away."

"Hellhounds?" Dean asked, squirming in his chair, suddenly very uncomfortable, "Uh… How long do you have?"

Ms. Howard stopped moving around the kitchen and stared at him, "What?" She blinked.

"Ms Howard," Sam inquired, "Why are you trying to keep Hellhounds out?"

"Oh," she laughed, "I don't have a deal hanging over my head if that's what you mean," she brought cups over to the small dinette table Sam and Dean were sitting at, "It just seemed like a good thing to keep around, you know? And it's amazing to cook with." She was all smiles once again, "So, what'll it be, boys? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?"

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, probably wondering the same thing… Maybe she was high, but she was far too… peppy. Sam politely refused, and Dean went for the coffee. After all, he was the one that had to drive all night back to Aloha, and it wasn't a short drive, nor an entertaining one.

Ms. Howard sat down across from them, folding her legs under her in the kitchen chair and sipping from the cup of tea she'd poured herself, "So, you guys know a lot about Hellhounds? I mean, it's weird. No one I know's read the _Supernatural_ books, so no one I know knows what I'm talking about when I bring them, and other things, up. They mostly think I'm crazy."

"We know enough about Hellhounds," Dean said shortly, staring at the table.

"Can you tell us about your great grandfather, Ms. Howard?" Sam asked.

"Oh yeah, sure," she said, "and please… It's Sammy." She smiled, "Well, from what I've been told, James spent the last of his days at the mental hospital in Oregon – Salem, I think?"

"The one they filmed _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest _at?" Dean asked, interested. He loved that movie, and would have loved to check out that wing of the hospital before they'd reconstructed it.

"I guess so," said Samantha, "I mean, the stories I have are stories my mom told me. They're all second-hand, you know? Anyway, they said he went crazy around the time he wrote about Nepham. We all just figure he was schizophrenic or something. He hid in his house for a long time after that to avoid people that wanted to burn him at the stake. They still did things like that in his time, I guess. I don't know, really. Anyway, you read that essay I posted, right?"

Sam and Dean both shook their heads, "It was very detailed," Sam said, "but we were curious if there was maybe something that wasn't published? We're looking for more information about the demon himself and other details that may have been left out. Did he write anything about how to help him?"

Samantha just stared at Sam, a blank expression on her face. Then she raised an eyebrow, "Why would you wanna _help_ a damned demon?" she asked.

Dean spoke up then, "Look, we have a demon lying in our motel room, unconscious and in trouble. She's helping us, so we're trying to help her. Preferably before she dies ya'know? She has the same symptoms this Nepham guy had, and we just wanna figure out a way to keep her from kickin' the bucket."

Samantha laughed, "You guys _are_ role playing, aren't you?"

Dean and Sam both rolled their eyes. Sam couldn't figure out if it would help their case if they played along with her or if they stuck with the truth.

"We don't role play," said Sam.

There was a ring at the doorbell, and Samantha excused herself.

"Dean," Sam said in a hushed tone, "you're flirting with the slash girl."

"Dude, did you _see_ her?" Dean asked.

Samantha squealed from in the other room, "Oh my _goodness,_ I can't believe how ahmazing it came out! Alice, you're amazing!"

Samantha walked back into the kitchen moments later, the tall girl presumed to be Alice, following close behind carrying a giant canvas, "Guys, this is my friend Alice," she said, motioning behind her, "and Alice, these guys call themselves Sam and Dean." She giggled, and Alice squealed, giggling with her.

"Larpers, in _your_ house?" she exclaimed in awe, "Your stories must be getting bigger by the hour!"

Dean sighed. _Fan girls,_ he thought.

"Oh Alice, show 'em your painting!" Samantha said, grabbing another mug from the cupboard, "They'll just love it!"

Alice was a very tall, lanky girl with frumpy auburn hair, small eyes and big, black-rimmed glasses. She was cute in a very geeky kind of way. She blushed, lifting her painting onto the table. "It's uh, based on one of Sammy's stories," she said, hiding behind the canvas. It was one thing to share her work with Samantha, but with two guys? They probably weren't even gay… They really didn't look like it. They did look a lot like her painting though. Sam's tall, lanky, broad-shouldered figure and shaggy brown hair – even his cheekbones, and Dean's perfectly masculine frame, short hair and hazel eyes. He even had gorgeous pouty lips…

Dean spit his coffee back into his cup when he saw Alice's painting, and Sam turned a shade of white he was sure he'd never seen before. The painting depicted the two boys in a very vivid and very realistic erotic position that they both could've done without seeing. Ever.

"Isn't she _brilliant?"_ Samantha asked.

Dean couldn't find the words… He vowed to wash his eyes with bleach when they got back to the room. He'd never get the image out of his head. And why the Hell was he portrayed as the bitch? Dean was more man than Sam in a lot of ways, at least, that's how he saw things.

"It's… very vivid," Sam said, trying to keep a straight face and failing. He looked like someone had shoved a live wire down his throat. Sam didn't know what to think of the painting, but he was sure then that the girls were crazy. At least imbalanced, and in desperate need of therapy. What was appealing about gay incest? Sam couldn't see the attraction. He didn't ever want to. More than anything at that moment, he wanted to wipe his memory. He couldn't believe how much the characters she'd drawn looked like him and Dean, either.

"Well, listen," Dean said suddenly, "Here's my number," he handed a card to Samantha, "we've gotta get going, but if you think of anything that can help us, please give us a call." Dean wanted to get out of that house and as far away from that painting as possible. It was bad enough that the image was going to stick in his mind for a time, "T-thanks for the coffee," he said walking toward the hallway, "and Alice… uh… keep up the… good work." He said it as fast as he could, worrying that something else would slip out, like, _What the Hell is wrong with you? _Or something along those lines.

Sam left his number with Samantha as well, letting her know that they'd be in touch when she passed him hers. He apologized for leaving in a rush and quietly explained that they really should check on the demon they left in their room, trying for a good enough excuse to get away from them.

Soon as he got to the passenger side door, Sam burst out laughing. He couldn't help himself. Dean had looked so traumatized. He knew he probably had too, after all, that's not something you see everyday; not something he ever wanted to see again, either. He wondered if either of those girls had any semblance of a love life. Samantha was pretty enough, she could have her pick. Dean sure wanted her, and that was despite the fact that she fantasized about him and his brother in bed together. Sam would've said that there was a screw or two in Dean's head loose, but he had seen her too. She was drop-dead-gorgeous in a dangerous looking kinda way. Definitely Dean's type… It probably wouldn't take her much effort to get Sam in bed with her either.

Dean glared at him over the hood of the car, pointing his key at him, he said, "I will end you, Sammy. Shut it."

It only made Sam laugh harder.

"Hey, guys, wait up!" It was Samantha, running down her porch to meet them at their car, "Hey, I'm going to be in Portland tomorrow if you want to meet up and discuss my great-grandfather. I know we didn't; sorry about that. Alice and I, we didn't mean to scare you off." She blushed.

"It's alright," Sam said, still smiling, "We really do need to be getting back, and will you let her know we're sorry… for reacting the way we did? It's just ah… well, it was unexpected, I think."

Samantha let out a breath, "Okay, as long as we didn't scar you for life or anything," she laughed, "it's kinda one a those guilty pleasures, you know?"

"Oh, I'm scarred for life," Dead assured her, "I mean, c'mon! Sam's my brother… That's just – sick."

Samantha laughed again, "I'm so sorry," she said, trying to stop laughing and failing, "Hey, you really are the real Sam and Dean, like, for really real?" she asked.

"In the flesh," Dean said, a permanent glare in his expression, "the fully-covered, very-straight, washing-our-eyes-with-bleach, flesh."

"Look, Samantha, this is where we're staying," Sam said, writing the motel info on a piece of paper, "feel free to give me a call and come by. We'd love to hear more about Dr. Howard if you have the time."

"Of course!" she squealed, "For the hottest, bravest – and straight," she added, for Dean's benefit, "boys on the planet, _anything_!"

***

Sam and Dean had driven back to the motel in silence. Neither of them really knew what to say, so they just kept quiet, listening to one of Dean's many cassette tapes. Dean had driven the whole way back, Sam sleeping on and off in the passenger seat. It could be difficult to stay awake on the road sometimes. It was so often as a child that John and Dean would drive around to help Sam fall asleep.

Pulling up to the motel, Dean stretched, "Dude, let's _never_ do that again, okay?" he yawned.

Sam laughed, "You're scared of Alice, aren't you?" He could see why his brother would be. He himself wasn't so sure about her. Why wouldn't she draw _herself_ with one of the guys instead of them together? Crazy…

"Seriously, Sammy…" Dean replied, "I think she's got a one-up on even Hellhounds!"

Sam loved that panicked, fake-scared-half-to-death look in his brother's eyes. It had made him giggle a lot as a kid, and he still found it just as funny, "That's sad, dude," he said, stepping out of the car.

"Now I need a shower – or five," Dean said, grabbing at his jacket as if it had some invisible goo on it, "I feel just… _dirty_." And he looked disgusted as well, "Man, I can't even look at you!" he pouted.

Dean followed Sam up to the door, and Sam smiled, turning back to look at his brother. Dean knew that look. He always wore it when he was about to burn him in some way, "Dude, you're just jealous she made me the dominant one and not you."

Dean's shoulders slumped, "Yeah, that too," He said, "What part of _this,"_ he motioned his hands in front of his body, "screams 'bitch'? I'm tellin' ya, Sammy, I'd give my left nut to be able to burn every copy of Chuck's books right now; Winchester Gospel or no. I feel violated!"

Sam laughed, turning the key in the door, "How 'bout we just don't talk about it from here on out? Maybe, in time, the image will burn itself out…"

Dean agreed.

Ember was lying in the bed where Sam had left her. He'd tucked her in, like a child, with just the sheet – as the comforter, he assumed, would be too hot for the fever she had. She hadn't moved. Sam glanced back at his brother, who shrugged, draping his jacket over a chair, and grabbing his bathroom bag off a hook in the small closet.

"Wait," Sam said, "before you take a shower, I don't know, but we may need to break her fever…"

Dean raised his eyebrow, "You know anything about breaking a demon fever, Sammy?"

"Well, I'm guessing it would be just like any human."

"Ice bath?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head in response, "Alright," Dean sighed, "I'll go fill the ice bucket."

Dean walked out the door, ice bucket in hand, and Sam walked over to his bed and pressed the back of his hand to Ember's forehead. It was hotter than any fever should ever be, but she was also a demon. Maybe that's just how it worked. The sheets surrounding her were soaked, and when he tried to wake her, she wouldn't wake up. She seemed so much more human than demon to Sam, and he couldn't just let her lie there and die. As far as he knew, other than screwing up his shoulder and such the day before, she'd never done anything to wrong him and his brother. For all he knew, she'd done something right by them and had gotten herself banished. Sam stripped the sheet off her, and her jeans and top as well. He left her lying there in her bra and panties to go start a cold bath.

"Sam?" Dean called from the doorway, "Dude, if I'm interrupting…"

"Don't be stupid," Sam called from the bathroom, "bring me the ice."

Dean walked into the bathroom with their bucket and an extra he'd gotten from the office, both full of ice. He set them on the counter and pulled towels down off the shelf, "She's not going to like this at all," he said, "I remember the first time dad and I had to put you in a cold bath. You were five, and I was pretty sure you were gonna kill us both in our sleep. She's not doing well, is she?"

"She's burning up. I've never felt a fever that bad on someone that wasn't close to death," said Sam, tossing the ice in the water, "and for the record, I wouldn't have killed you, I just took your skin mags and put them under dad's pillow." He smirked, remembering just how much trouble Dean had been in for that. He'd been in more trouble for that than he had the time their dad found out Dean had let Sam read his journal.

"I _knew_ that was you!" Dean said, chucking a towel at Sam's head, "Listen, I'm gonna wait out there while you do this, if that's okay."

"Yeah, that's fine. She's gonna be pissed enough that I took her clothes off, I think," said Sam, "It might just generally be safer out there."

Sam followed Dean out of the bathroom. Dean sat at the table, "Oh, I got coffee, too, by the way," he said, watching Sam lift the unconscious girl off the bed. He was having a hard time thinking of her as a demon, especially in the state that she was in.

"Thanks, I think I'm gonna need it," Sam said as he carried Ember into the bathroom, closing the door with his foot behind him.

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" The high-pitched, pained scream came from the bathroom moments later. Dean shook his head, Hell, at least she was still alive.

Ember didn't know where she was, and even worse, she was wet, cold, sore and nearly naked! She looked around frantically, but couldn't take anything in. Her vision was so blurry. She was scared, like waking-up-in-an-ice-bath-with-a-missing-kidney scared. The analogy seemed far too accurate for comfort. It took her some time to hear that someone was calling her name. He sounded so far away, but she felt hands on her, so she knew the voice was closer than she heard. She blinked hard, trying to clear the blur from her eyes, and at first, all she could make out was the shape of a man kneeling next to the tub she was in. She panicked, trying to get away. She was almost positive, as a demon, her kidneys weren't really necessary, but she wanted them all the same.

"Ember!" Sam shouted again, "Ember, it… is… okay! Calm… down!" He said, through gritted teeth, trying to keep her from flailing and hurting herself.

Ember blinked furiously, trying to see her attacker's face. What was okay about this? She was mostly naked in a bathtub with some grabby guy holding her down. She still couldn't see that well, but she decided to take a shot anyway, her fist connecting solidly with his face.

"Dammit!" he yelled, blood spurting out of his mouth. Sam, fed up of trying to hold her still in a tub of water, yanked her out by the arms, holding her in his lap, her arms wrapped tightly across her chest, and her legs held down by his own, "You're going to calm down now, got it?" he hissed into her ear, holding tighter against her struggles, "Because if you don't," he whispered, "I'm gonna tie you up and let you freeze in the ice water."

As her vision cleared, Ember stared down at the man's boots, and soaking blue jeans. She could see a lot more clearly now, taking in the bathroom, from the small rusted tub and shower, toilet and sink, to the broken shelves and solid white towels. She tilted her head back, trying to see the man's face, and her eyes went wide as he looked down at her, "Sam?" she whispered, "Oh my God, _Sam!_ I uh… Sorry…"

Sam laughed, loosening his grip, "This is the second time you've gotten away with punching me in the face," he said, smiling down at her, "I'm glad to see you conscious," he said, "but don't ever do that again."

Ember smiled sheepishly, "I'll try not to," she said, trying to stand up. She fell back into Sam's lap, her vision swimming. _What the Hell is this?_

"I don't think you're ready to walk yet," Sam said, rubbing her back, "The bath probably numbed your muscles a little, and Idoubt your fever's completely broken."

"W-what the Hell happened," she asked. The smell of Sam was incredible. She'd thought so before too, but the way she landed, her face was practically buried in his chest. She didn't at all mind being there in that moment.

"You don't remember?" Sam asked. Ember shook her head. "You went up to Portland with Dean to meet with the owner of that house, and you passed out on the way back. You," Sam pressed his lips to her forehead, sending her heart fluttering off to some other planet, "had a fever – an _epic_ fever, and you've been unconscious since yesterday. We didn't know what else to do. A demon gets a fever, what? You take her to the hospital? That somehow didn't seem like it'd be at all helpful."

"So you threw me in a tub of ice."

"Basically," Sam replied.

"After taking my clothes off?" Ember asked, her eyebrow going up in curiosity.

Sam blushed. What was he supposed to do? It's not like she had other clothes, and ice baths are more effective if you're not wearing jeans, "You only have one pair of clothes, right?" Sam asked.

"Right," she said, his reasoning dawning on her. If he'd tossed her in the tub fully clothed, she'd be sitting around naked until they dried, "Oh, riiight…."

"Yeah. I can go get them for you if you want…" Sam offered, "You must be freezing."

Ember grinned up at him, "Well, I was," she said, moving a little further on top of him. She could tell he was happy to have her there. She couldn't help it. Sam was her idea of perfectly irresistible.

Sam smiled kind of a half smile. He was sure pursuing anything with Ember wasn't the best of ideas. Especially after everything that happened with Ruby. He knew Ember was different in ways, but he still knew the general rule about demons; they lie. This could just be a game to distract him and Dean or play on his emotions, but it could also be a girl that wanted him and had no _'ulterior motives'_ as she'd said. Sam grabbed her by the jaw, gently pulling her closer. Ember's lips were soft, healed of the wounds Sam had inflicted on her with the bat yesterday.

Ember's heart sped as Sam's lips touched hers. She'd enjoyed the one other time he'd kissed her, but the tinge of regret had kept her from fully appreciating the warm feel of his mouth on hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed him to pull her up so she was sitting on his lap, his left hand pressed into the base of her back, and the other wrapped tightly in her hair. She could feel Sam's frustration that there were clothes keeping them apart. He wanted so much more than to explore her mouth with his own.

Bang bang bang

"Sammy, we've got company," Dean called from outside the bathroom door.

Sam broke from the kiss, staring down at Ember, "I'll bring you your clothes," he told her, breathless.

Ember nodded, smiling weakly. He'd kissed her without the temptation of demon blood being there. Did that mean something? She hoped so. Sam tossed her a towel on his way out, and he closed the door behind him.

Sam's jeans and t-shirt were still soaked from Ember's flailing. Dean looked at him with his typical big-brother I-know-what-you-were-doing-in-there look and said, "This is Officer Branson. He got a complaint about screaming coming from our room." Dean looked pissed. He hated cops. Ever since a shape-shifter had impersonated him and got him on the police radar, he hated them more than ever. As far as the government was concerned, Sam and Dean Winchester had died in an explosion.

"Oh," Sam said, "Give me just one sec, officer," he said, holding up a finger to say hold on and grabbing Ember's clothes.

"Hold it," Officer Branson warned, un-holstering his gun.

"Whoa, officer," Dean said, he and Sam both raising their hands, "There's no problem here."

Officer Branson kept his gun aimed, fortunately, the safety still on, "Drop the clothes, there, Sam," he said, "I wanna see both yer hands. And move away from the door, slowly."

"Sam! I'm freezing in here!" Ember called from behind the door, hoping it would help the situation. She didn't remember screaming, but the shock of the ice water would make anyone scream. Until today, though, she didn't think she could be affected much by temperatures. She really was freezing.  
>Sam smiled innocently at the officer, "The only scream came from my girlfriend, if you know what I mean," he winked, "If I could just give her her clothes, she can corroborate my story."<p>

Thankfully, the officer lowered his gun, "Do it," he said, "but don't try anything funny."

Sam walked over and knocked on the door, Ember's folded jeans and t-shirt in hand. She opened it a crack, peering out, "Sorry, Sir," she said, blushing (even to Sam the blush seemed forced. It would have to be with as cold as she still was). Sam handed her clothes to her and kissed her on the cheek before letting her close the door to get dressed.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother and looked at the officer, "See? We're sorry about the disturbance, but there's really nothing going on here. We didn't realize the walls were so thin."

Ember emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped on top of her head, a few strands of wet hair trailing her face. Her wet bra had soaked through her top, but her pants were dry. Sam wondered if she ditched her panties. He liked the idea in spite of himself. He tried not to let it show as she walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"What's goin on?" she asked, glancing at all the men in the room, "did we do somethin' wrong?"

Being a man, the officer naturally couldn't help but stare at her chest, being wet, as it was.. It was annoying. Sometimes, she could use it to her advantage, but other times, like now, it was just plain irritating. Sam cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, officer," Ember said, glaring at him, "but I'm up here." She crossed her arms, trying to look uncomfortable, even though she really wasn't. Had she been feeling better, she probably would have tried to hit him or something.

"Pardon me, ma'am; Sir" he said, hoping Sam wasn't going to kick his ass for looking at his girlfriends chest, "I just gotta have a look in yer bathroom… Can't be too careful 'round 'ere," he said, taking off his cap. Sam waved his arm, motioning him toward the bathroom as he sat on the end of the bed with Ember still wrapped around him. Dean was standing by the door, waiting, very impatiently, for Officer Branson to leave. He'd hidden the weapons they'd had out on the bed and they're research and everything else under the bed and in the small drawers between them, hoping to reduce the suspicion.

Officer Branson found nothing in the bathroom other than a wet floor, wet towels, and a pair of wet, lacy, royal blue panties. As he turned to walk out, a spatter of blood on the wall caught his eye, and he drew his gun again, peering behind the bathroom door. Walking out of the bathroom, he didn't have his 9mil raised, but out and with the safety off, "I think ya'll best start explainin' the blood in yer bathroom," he said.

Dean was outraged, "What the Hell?" he asked, glaring daggers into the cop's skull.

"Oh my God," Ember said, exasperated, "It's nothing, officer, really… I accidentally head-butted Sam in the face when we were – well, that part's none your business." She was glaring now too, and her body, wrapped around Sam became noticeably warmer. He rubbed her back. For some reason, she reminded him of a cat. Not a simple domestic cat, but a wild feral cat, the kind that you keep your distance from till they trusted you. He wanted her calm. They were trying to get rid of her fever, not make it worse.

"It's true, officer," Sam said, "Can you believe I forgot it happened?" He stuck his lower lip out to show the cut more. He really had forgotten about it, but now that he remembered it happening his lip throbbed and he felt the biting pain for the cut. Ember packed a pretty powerful punch, "It was a complete accident, but she hit me so hard it even split my lip."

Officer Branson squinted to see the wound more clearly and then holstered his weapon, "Sorry boys – and ma'am," he said, shaking his head, "guess this place's got me a bit on edge."

"I understand," Sam said, realizing Officer Branson must've been working this beat for a couple years. It wasn't the greatest area of town, and an even shadier motel. Sam stood up and shook the officer's hand, hoping that, if he was nice enough, he'd just go away. The officer put his cap back on and apologized for the inconvenience. Before walking out, he turned and said, "Be sure'ta keep the noise down from 'ere-on-out. Wouldn't wanna do this again." With that, he left.

Dean let out a breath he really hadn't known he'd been holding, "Well, that went well," he said, clearly relieved. He locked the door and threw himself down on his bed, "Man, I got a headache!"

"You and me both," Sam said, kissing Ember on the head and standing up. He went over to the table where the coffees sat, "Hey, which one's mine?" He asked his brother.

"I got you and Ember the same thing since I don't actually know how she takes it," Dean said, sitting up, "Either of them is yours."

Ember jumped up off the bed like a spring, "You got me coffee?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean answered, "figured you might want some if you weren't dead."

Ember ran over and hugged him, catching him by surprise. He tapped her back, as if she were something slimy, "Thanks, Dean," she said, smiling from ear to ear. She still felt weak, but the prospect of coffee thrilled her beyond words.

"Uh," he was still shocked she hugged him, "you're welcome."

"What is it?"

Dean shook his head, "Sammy drinks girl coffee – if it can even be called coffee," he said, "It's a skim latte."

She took a sip of hers, "I take my coffee black like my eyes," she said; something she'd said frequently throughout her time as a demon. In life, she'd loved coffee, and that hadn't changed after that life ended. The only thing that did change was her need for it. "This isn't bad, though."

Ember turned around to talk to Dean and almost spit her latte all over the place. A man wearing a wrinkled suit and tan trench was standing right in front of her, too damn close. He had an unaffected expression on his face, blue eyes and short brown hair. _Who the Hell are you?_ She thought.

"Cas!" Dean jumped up off the bed, "Dude, where the Hell you been?"

"She's a demon," he said in response.

"Uh, yeah," Dean said, "We kinda know that."

He tilted his head, examining her, "but she isn't a demon in whole."

"Okay, whoa," Ember said, pushing at the crazy guys chest, "One; I have a _bubble_, and you're in it. You need to get out of it. Two; I'm standing right here. You can talk like I am."

"My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord."

Ember's eyes went wide, and she backed up only to find Sam's arms keeping her in place. She glanced back at him, and he smiled, "he won't hurt you, Ember. Will you, Cas?"

"That is not my purpose, no." he said, looking confused. Ember realized that may have been a typical look for him, "How did you escape?" he asked her, very serious.

"What?" Ember was confused. _Escape what?_

"Cas, what's going on?" Dean asked, walking over to stand by his brother and Ember, "We've been trying to reach you for ages and nothing, and then you show up now out of nowhere?"

"There's been an uprising in Hell," Castiel said, "Hell's been left leaderless. This demon here should know what I'm talking about. Tell me what I need to know."

"I don't know anything," Ember snapped, "What the Hell are you talking about?"

"Where is Hell's leader?" Castiel asked, pulling out his sword.

Sam pulled Ember back away from him, "Whoa," he said, "I doubt that's necessary."

"You of all people, Sam, should know better than getting involved with a demon," Castiel chided, sheathing his sword.

"Yeah," Sam replied, "I think that's my business, Cas."

Dean stood between his brother and their renegade angel friend, "Look, Cas, it's great to see ya - not like we haven't been tryin' to reach you for a lifetime – but how 'bout you fill us in on what's goin' on, hmm?"

Castiel apologized to Ember, an odd thing. He'd never apologize to a demon, but somehow, she'd banished herself from Hell. There had to be a good reason for an action such as that. He'd never have dropped back down to Earth under these circumstances if he didn't think his charges were in danger, and now he understood why.

"Hell just lost its most powerful demon," he stated, "and the others are furious. Leaderless and building up an escape."

Everyone in the room looked confused and just stared at him. "Ember MacAeowen… This girl here, is Hell's most powerful – so long as Lucifer remains in his cage."

Ember snorted, "Riiight," she said, "that explains why I feel like crap right now. Oh wait, I get it…" she turned to look at Sam and Dean, "your friend here is freakin' delusional!" She didn't want to believe what he was saying, but even she hadn't remembered her last name till he said it. There must be some truth to what he was saying, but how could that be?

Castiel realized that she really did remember next to nothing. Of course, he didn't really know much about banishment from Hell. It had only happened once in history to a demon that called himself Nepham. There were two demons around with that kind of power, and one was rotting in a cage and wouldn't use such power if he weren't, and the other one was nearly human, standing right in front of him.

"If you would move aside, Sam," Castiel started, "I will not harm her, but I'd like to grant her memory back. It may lead us to figure out what all is at hand."

Sam, hesitantly, moved aside, Ember reluctantly letting go of his hand. She honestly wouldn't have been holding it – because she wasn't that kind of girl – if there hadn't been a big scary angel in the room. _An angel, seriously._ She was mortified, and confused, and had a major urge to just run for the hills, but he'd said he wasn't going to hurt her; but wasn't that what angels did to demons?

Ember was nervous as the angel, Castiel, approached her, his hand held out in an I'm-harmless gesture. As Castiel drew closer, Ember took in a deep breath, not planning to release it until she came out alive on the other side. He touched her temple with just two fingers and her vision was tossed into light, memories she'd happily forgotten flooding back to her in a torrent of blood and fire and teeth and smoke and the acrid smell of rotting, burning flesh. She screamed, loud, ragged and wordless and clawed at the empty air; things that weren't there… Memories. Sam tried to hold her down, keep her from hurting herself. She could feel his arms around her, but she was lost. He felt so far away, as did Dean and Castiel, that bastard! How dare he do this to her? She felt herself falling, sinking, _back to Hell,_ she thought, panicked. Darkness ate away at her world, and once again she fell into unconsciousness, slumping back into Sam's arms. 

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


End file.
